La Bohème
by i3Gaara
Summary: The year: 1987. The place: Alphabet City. Mello is a stuggling musician weakend by his addiction. Matt is just trying to get through another day alive. Rated M for major drug use and maybe more in future chaps. MattxMello yaoi. R&R please.
1. Suicide

Disclaimer: I do note own Death Note.

Song: Suicide by The Raveonettes (Note: It's more about the lyrics than the title. Think about it, or better yet, listen to it. :D)

* * *

I stumble down the street around the corners I know by heart. It's extremely late at night, but I know the person I'm looking for will be there. I turn the last corner and walk down the alleyway looking for the man lurking in the shadows.

As I look around for a few moments, the man I'm looking for steps into the moonlight shining through cracks in the fire escapes above us. He looks at me with a small smile on his face.

"I knew you'd come," he says to me, "You can't ever give this stuff up."

I looked at him and I knew in my mind, that I was fighting a losing battle when I told him I'd never see him again. That our "meetings" would forever end. When I told him that, though, he had an amused expression on his face and told me that if I changed my mind he'd be in the same place as always.

That was two days ago. It's now two o'clock in the morning and I'm practically begging for more of my stash.

I said in a detached tone, "I've decided that I won't quit cold turkey. I'm just going to…wean myself off from it. But now," I added, "I'm going to need some more."

He just looked smug and said, "Whatever. Do you got the cash?"

I pulled a few crumpled twenty-dollar bills from the pocket of my red jacket- one of my last belongings- and held them out to him.

He took them and quickly counted them as I watched carefully to make sure he didn't run off with my money, then pulled a little plastic baggy out from his leather jacket pocket. He held out the precious powder and said with a sarcastic smile, "Pleasure doing business with you."

I gave a curt nod then greedily grabbed the little baggy. I then took off running down the way I had come from. I had to save this; I knew that because I needed first to get enough money to buy more of it.

I half ran, half stumbled back to the building where I lived in a studio apartment with three other people. As I climbed the steps to my apartment, I knew that I was just continuing the endless loop that was my life. I would pump the wondrous drug into my veins, then realize that it was all gone, then having this feeling like it would never get better, then convince myself that I was going to quit, then start the withdrawal and get more. It was an endless, vicious, circle. I just kept telling myself that I _had _the willpower to quit, I just didn't _want_ to. I kept telling myself that, but even I knew it was a lie. I would never, _could_ never quit. I needed the drug by now. It was all that was keeping me going.

I walked into the apartment and found, to my dismay, two of my roommates half naked and making out on the couch.

_Good God_, I thought to myself, _don't they have any courtesy for the other people living here? _

I decided I wouldn't disturb L and Light, for they hadn't even noticed me as I walked by them- boots thudding on the floor, might I add- and over to the kitchen counter. I looked briefly for anything to eat, although I knew already that we hadn't had anything edible there for days. There just wasn't enough money for food. I suppose I _could_ have bought something to eat, but I _had_ to save my money up for my precious drug. I figured I could live a little longer without food, but I definitely couldn't live any longer without my precious drug.

I went to a secluded corner that was far away enough from the couple on the couch and the one bedroom that was currently occupied by my other roommate- and I certainly didn't want to go in _there_- to arrange my supplies. I hastily pushed my blonde hair out of my face and took out my needle that I had gotten from one place or another- I couldn't really remember, but I didn't care- and quickly and quietly got everything else ready.

I had to clench my fist in order for my veins to pop out so I could see them. I knew that because of so many months using this drug, my veins were on the edge of collapsing. I knew that, but I didn't care. I just wanted to feel that wondrous rush from my drug of choice. I wanted to feel my blood pumping through my veins with my precious drug. I craved that ecstasy I got from using my precious drug. I was hooked, and I knew it. I was a junkie.

But I couldn't care less. I didn't care what I was doing to myself; I would do anything just to get _more_.

I put the needle to my forearm and pushed. Almost instantaneously I got that exhilarating feeling that I had come to love. I felt better than I had in almost a week. I knew that this feeling made it all worth it.

When the rest of my life was hell, my precious drug kept me alive. I was a struggling musician in this tough world called Alphabet City. My only belongings were the clothes on my back- which weren't really good New York clothes, for they were made of leather- including the red jacket with a fur lining, my heavy duty black boots, and my violin.

I was classically trained in several instruments, but my favorite had to be the violin. I just loved the way that the music coming from it could be any genre. From classical to folk, it was just that amazing an instrument. I had also picked up the guitar from a friend I made on my way to the artists main strip- Alphabet City.

But, man, was this city hard! Really. Fucking. Hard. The first day I got here was when I first tried that sweet drug of mine. Little did I know that it would be the first step to the life of a junkie artist. Soon after, I was selling everything I had just to get more money to buy my precious drug. Now, the only thing left for me to do was sell my body- and that's exactly what I did. No matter how long I stand outside improvising on my violin, I could never get enough money to buy my precious drug that I can selling myself for a cheap fuck. All I have to do is saunter in a few key areas, and sooner or later, someone will come by and ask if I'm busy. Of course, then I'll smile my sexiest smile and shake my head no and they'll usually provide the room. Actually, sometimes they don't even get a room and I'll be stuck fucking some guy in an alleyway or bathroom. Not exactly one of my finest moments.

Of course, none of that matters to me. I'll do anything for my precious drug. My body's been abused in every way imaginable by now, but it doesn't faze me. As long as I get paid, I don't care what happens to my body. Sex is nothing to me now. It's all worth it when I finally get my precious drug, I just can't control myself when I get that indescribable feeling.

That's exactly what I'm feeling now, and I pray the feeling stays long into the night- or, actually, I should say morning because it's 3:34. I never could really sleep that well before, and I almost never sleep now so I lean against the window near the fire escape thinking about nothing and everything. I know that my precious drug is my life now, and nothing else really matters. I also know that I really shouldn't care about my life anymore because there probably won't be a long time before I die. I had been diagnosed with AIDS two weeks ago.

I didn't know what to expect, really, when I went to that free clinic. Someone pushed me into doing it- I can't remember who, but it was probably L or Light- and I had some blood tests done. The doctor walked back in and told me he had some bad news. I didn't really react much, because I had some drug in my system at the time, but when he elaborated I just had one thing to say.

Fuck.

As hazy as I was, I somehow knew that my dream of becoming known as a famous musician had somewhat been extinguished. The doctor told me that I probably had two months to a year before I kicked the bucket. Right then, I figured that if I was going to die anyway, then I'd have as much of my precious drug I could. Some other part of me- the more logical side- said that I should just quit while I could and at least _try_ to get known as a famous musician. These two parts of me still battle it out once in a while. Hence, the whole circle.

But, I decided that I would not think of that subject anymore, and watched the sun rise though the window in my apartment.

I then thought to myself wryly, _Heh, at least I made it though another day_.

_xXxXx_

**A/N: Okay, so I'm sorry this was so short, but this is just a little teaser!! And I'm actually liking this one!! I absolutely ****promise**** that this fic will be finished!! Oh and Matt won't be appearing until the next chap, sorry! I'm hoping to update by tomorrow or the next day. **

**Please remember to reveiw! Thanks!**


	2. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

_**A/N: Yay! A new chapter! So, I didn't **_**mean**_** to switch POVs, it just kind of happened. Sorry. Hee. **_

Song: Ain't no Rest For the Wicked by Cage the Elephant

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, if I did Matt and Mello would not have died.

* * *

I walked down the street with a few people scattered here and there at dusk with no place particular in mind. I didn't have a permanent place to go back to, so I wandered looking for someplace to sleep tonight.

_The year: 1987. The place: Alphabet City. Pan in on Matt_, I thought. Just Matt, because I had lost my other self so now I am just Matt. _Matt, described with a messy look, with matching red hair. Wearing a ragged long sleeved striped shirt with a not-so-warm vest after so much use and an old pair of blue jeans. Topped off with a random pair of goggles around his neck. _Actually, the goggles weren't random. They have important meaning, one of which I cannot think of right now, but I will.

Oh screw it. They were random. Someone had dropped them in a dumpster and I figured, _Hey, it snows in New York, right? Maybe they'll come in handy. _

But the rest was alright. Hm, maybe I'm getting better at this. This filmmaker thing.

It'd probably be a lot easier if I had a movie camera instead of just writing screenplays in my head. But whatever, beggars can't be choosers. Oh God, I did not just say that. That's it; my life is completely and totally pathetic when I start speaking in clichés.

I shook it off and continued my suckish screenplay.

_He walks down_ _the street seemingly in another world, whilst really people watching. _And with good reason. Has anyone seen Alphabet City? It's a bohemian paradise. You can catch almost anything happening. A tagger making a new masterpiece on an abandoned building's walls. Maybe not even an abandoned building if they're a protester. And there are a million of them around here, too.

And they always find something to protest about. Be it the government treating them unfairly, or their healthcare- or lack thereof- the protesters want something better. I'm sure we all do.

But at least most of us know that we're never gonna get anything better, or be anything greater than we were before. After a while in these horrid living conditions, you start to wonder why you're even here.

But by then, you can't go back to wherever you came from. It's just too late. Something's happened- maybe you don't have any money left, or any hope, which are two common things that people lose. Or maybe you got hooked on something here that you can't get wherever it is you came from. You could get hooked on anything here, believe me. You got your many types of drugs that lurk around any of the right places, and you got the sex. The sex you could get any night if you pay the right price.

Around here, people will do almost anything for money. Most of which is used to pay for drugs; because when you feel there's nothing left to you, when you've been rejected for a job for the millionth time, when the one person you cared about just up and leaves you taking whatever little amount of money you had with them, you _need _something to make you feel good again. Something that makes you feel truly _alive_.

I had cigarettes. I know, right? Out of everything I could get I chose something as small as nicotine. But they hold me over so I don't dwell on it. I could have one when I'm stressed or content, or whatever. I wasn't exactly complaining with them.

However, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be _doing_ here. In this city full of people with talent- or at least they think they have it- dreaming of becoming great artists, or musicians and such.

Me, I've tried almost everything. Artist, musician, I even tried to find something worth protesting. I found that I just didn't really care. And now I'm trying filmmaker.

I was born and raised here and, frankly, I just wanted to get the hell out of here. But, alas, as I have mentioned before some people just can't escape.

I just don't have the cash, and I wasn't exactly that desperate to hitchhike somewhere else and hope for the best. I was content to just live another day. Sliding by in life was my specialty. When I was still in school I was intelligent enough to do nothing and still get decent grades, and that was fine with me. I knew that I would never be anything really great, people won't worship me in life, probably nobody would even care about the insignificant being called Mai- Matt.

Matt. That was who I was now. Sometimes I think to myself_, could I really just forget the past? _I already was going by a new name and I never really knew anybody before, so I couldn't spot a problem in my plan.

Although, I suppose nothing was really going to change in my life. Ever.

And even as I'm thinking that, I find myself surprised at the tinge of bitterness in that thought. I pushed it aside because me, _Matt_, was just trying to get by in life without any extra problems.

I realized a little late that maybe I shouldn't have been so deep in thought because I found myself being dragged into an alleyway and my face shoved up against a wall.

Figured that this would happen to me. It wasn't the first time, but I still got a bit anxious at the possible ending of this little encounter.

I could tell that whoever had grabbed me was much stronger than I was and my odds weren't good.

The deep, gruff voice that spoke in my ear wasn't exactly reassuring, either.

"Give me all of your money." It was clearly a command, and I just _hated_ to disappoint him but knew if I didn't respond at all my odds would be even smaller of getting out of this alive.

So I told him, "Sorry, bud, but I don't have any." I _knew_ that being a smartass in this situation wasn't exactly a _good_ idea and made my odds that were already close to nonexistent, even closer to none, but I just couldn't help myself. It was just part of my nature.

"I don't believe you," the voice said in a- clearly- disbelieving tone.

"Well, I don't know whether to trust your judgment because you don't seem to be an Einstein, but I really have nothing." Oh there I go again. And this time my odds went exactly to none because he moved a hand to grip my neck at the end of my comment.

I gasped and said in a short breath, "Hey, man, I really don't have anything!"

I couldn't see him, but I though I heard a sneer in his voice when he briefly felt through my vest and said, "Oh yeah? Then what's this in your pocket?"

Fuck. My only pack of cigarettes that I had pick pocketed and had been rationing.

He pulled them out of my pocket, tucked them into his, and said, "Hm, I guess these'll do. You really don't seem to have any money. Too bad..." He added the last words in a mockingly sad tone. And I realized just a split second before he finished the sentence what would happen.

"…For you." He told me in a cold voice as he spun me around and punched me hard in the stomach.

I would have doubled over in the agony I was in, but he still had a good grip on my neck, which made it easier for him to hit me again in my face.

When he turned me around I saw that he was at least twice my scrawny size and weighed at _least _three times as much as I did. _And much of that weight was probably muscle,_ I thought nervously to myself.

I groaned in pain and he punched me hard again in multiple places of my body several times before he dropped me and I slid down the wall. He gave a cold laugh and sauntered away into the night, because by that time it was.

I lay in the alley in so much pain and agony for what seemed like forever. I knew that I was bleeding from my mouth and nose and that it was probably everywhere by now. I also knew that I was going to have to suck it up and clean myself up by myself because people who had my scenario could be found everywhere around here and _nobody _ever stops to help them because they had their own troubles to worry about.

But I figured I could lie there with all the trash and debris for a few more minutes.

Bad idea. I figured that out when I seemed to have drifted into unconsciousness, which is never a good sign when you've just been beaten on. I opened my eyes, shocked to find out I had closed them and realized that I had to get up.

I struggled to my feet and found that the ground kept moving and I realized that it really wasn't a good sign. I managed to stagger out of the alleyway and down the sidewalk. It was then that I remembered I didn't have anywhere to go.

Fuck. This probably wasn't good. I had a hazy fog of a mind and something was tugging at the corner of it. Some…place…that I could probably use. It clicked then, the 24/7 free clinic! There was only one that I knew of and…it was about seventeen blocks from where _I_ was…I think. I wasn't exactly sure _where_ I was. I hadn't been going anywhere in particular earlier.

Needless to say I was extremely pissed. And in extreme agony- right in my ribs, and I hoped to death that I didn't break anything.

As I was staggering, hunched over, down the sidewalk in- what I hoped was- the right direction of the clinic I ran into somebody.

_Fuck,_ I thought to myself. If it was somebody like that guy I had just seen I knew I was absolutely done for. Get my grave ready.

I looked up still squinting from the pain in my face, and saw the most beautiful guy I had ever seen, with help from the almost full moon and stars.

He looked absolutely godly, but at the same time, like he could kick my ass. Which I really hoped he wouldn't do. He had golden blonde hair that came to his chin and was wearing what seemed like leather pants and a red jacket over something I couldn't see. He had the hood pulled up, but I could see ice blue eyes…that were glaring at me.

I winced and thought, _Well, if I'm going to be killed now, at least I have seen this unearthly perfection before I died. _

I tried to stand up straight and back away from him, and he just continued to glare at me.

A few moments passed and he seemed to be having a discussion with himself in his head, for he slightly changed facial expressions several times. It was hard to tell, but I could catch his face changing. It was a gift, I know.

My worry about dying tonight in this harsh place was slowly decreasing as we stood there in the moonlight.

Finally he said something. He looked me over and said in a cold voice, "You look like shit."

I gave a short, dark laugh- which I found out to hurt a _lot_ more than it should have- and replied, "Thanks for the compliment."

He took a deep breath- to reassure himself, _this_ I'm sure of- waited a few more moments, looked toward the heavens and muttered to himself, "Oh, why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" Then he looked back at me sighed, and said, "Come with me." It was a command, I was sure of it, but I just had to say something.

"Wait a minute. You're telling me to just go with you? I don't know who the hell you are and you look like you could kick my ass without a second thought. I don't think so." And it was completely true. He didn't exactly look like Mother Teresa, and I wasn't about to just go and walk to my death when I might have a chance of living a little longer.

He gave me an exasperated sigh and said, "You don't _need_ to know who I am. I'll take you to the clinic. Don't ask me why, because I don't really know myself. I suggest you take this offer up because I am not so far gone that I wouldn't be able to walk away right now and let you suffer by yourself in the middle of the night."

Well, it was a good offer, I couldn't deny that fact. So I lifted my right hand from my side held it out and told him formally, "Hello. I'm Matt. Nice to meet you."

He didn't take me hand but made a face at me and said, "Fine. I'm Mello."

With that he let me lean on him slightly and we started walking in the _real_ direction of the clinic. Turns out I was going the wrong way the entire time. Figures.

_xXxXxXx_

_**A/N: Yes! I am so psyched for this story! And this would've been updated sooner but I had to get off the computer before 2 am last night because I had to take a Regents today. And I think I did AMAZING! To celebrate I will write another chapter tonight! …after I go to my friend's birthday party. But I SWEAR that another chap will be up by tomorrow! **_

_**For you guys to all celebrate you should totally review!! Even if you just write a one-word review, I will still love you forever and ever!!**_


	3. I Hate Everything About You

_**A/N: This contains some lemony goodness (in yaoi form, the best kind), so if you don't like that then why are you reading this story anyway? And the POV is Mello again. That's how it's going to go (Mello POV, Matt POV, Mello POV, Matt POV, etc.) unless I say it's anything different in the author's note. Oh, and this has some Mello/Near. I know, I hate that too but it just kind of showed up on its own. And I was like, "Uh, sure…I guess" but I like how it turned out. **_

Song: I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace.

Disclaimer: If I owned Death Note do you think I would spend my time writing _fanfiction_?

* * *

I don't know why I did it. I don't know what came over me- I just saw him on the street and got this incredible urge to help him. This red haired beauty.

And apparently, his name is Matt.

Now we're in the clinic, we just got here and we're waiting. Who knows how long we have to wait, though, there's just two people working here and several homeless people waiting to see a doctor. Actually, I don't even think these guys are certified. But I won't dwell on it.

I don't even know why I'm still here with him. I went through with my promise; I got him to here without a problem. So why do I not want to leave him?

There's just…something…to him that I can't figure out.

It was in the middle of these thoughts when I heard a throat being cleared deliberately. I looked over at Matt and found him staring at me.

"What?" I snapped. I wasn't exactly in a happy mood. I don't like not knowing what I'm feeling. I feel less in control that way.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "I was just wondering why you're still here. I think I can handle myself from here on out." He was still gasping for breaths like he was in intense pain while talking. I didn't like that.

Although he did look a little better. When we had gotten in the clinic we had gone into the restroom where there's running water to get some of the blood off of his face. It didn't look nearly as bad on the outside as when I first found him, but something was keeping me here, to make sure he was okay.

"Listen to yourself," I told him exasperatedly, "You can barely breathe. Just shut up and be thankful I'm even here."

He did stop talking then, but a few moments later he asked, "So is there something you particularly like? I mean I need to do something for you to pay you back. Because, let's face it, the way things were going I'd be dead on Avenue A right now."

I hated to admit it, but he was right. For some reason, I really didn't want to think about him being dead, it was just something I wanted to keep out of my thoughts.

"Alright, Mr. Chivalry, so you want to repay me. But you don't have anything, that I know for sure." He clearly wouldn't be _this_ bad if he at least had some money with him. Sure the guy who did this to him would get a few punches in just for kicks, but not with the intent of killing.

I knew how some of those thugs thought. If they couldn't get anything with physical properties, then they would find pleasure in getting a life. Unfortunately, I knew this first hand.

He looked a bit sheepish, then replied, "Well, then, I can try to get you something. Or maybe some time?" He paused and thought about it for a moment, "Yeah, that's it. If you need someone for some help, like an accomplice or something, then you can find me. If you ask around I'm sure someone'll know who I am or have seen me recently." He grinned quickly before wincing at the action then said, "Just say you're looking for someone with red hair and green goggles."

I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. We didn't speak for the rest of the wait.

After a long while someone called out, "Matt?"

Matt struggled to get up, looked back at me and said, "Thanks again, Mello," then walked over to where the doctor was standing in an entryway.

I liked the sound of my name on his lips. Something about it just sounded so…good. I was shocked to find out how much I actually liked it. I shook it off, however, and walked to the door.

I stepped outside into the crisp November night air and took a deep breath.

I wanted some smack, and I wanted it badly. My body was craving the substance like it always did when separated from it for a long while. But it wasn't even a long while; it had only been ten hours prior to this moment. I knew that the little amount I had wouldn't last long if I used some this second, so I made myself hold out a little longer as I started the walk back to my apartment.

I got up to my apartment and, after struggling with the keys and the lock, slid open the door. The room was dark and apparently empty as I walked in. I went in the direction of the lamp and tried to flick it on.

Fuck. Our power had been turned off. Well, this was just great. I only had the stars and moonlight shining in from the windows as light.

It was during these thoughts of _what else could go wrong? _when I felt another presence in the room.

I turned sharply and saw white hair glowing in the moonlight.

Near came up from behind me and snaked his arm around my waist. My body betrayed me and sunk into his touch.

"Why are you avoiding me, Mello?" He cooed in a sickly sweet voice.

I couldn't stand him. He always did this; he used me like one of his precious little toys. I knew that maybe that was being semi hypocritical because I was being used by anyone in the area who could pay, but I didn't care. I still hated him.

But this was different. This was Near. He toyed with not only my body, but my emotions too. He barely had any himself but he loved playing with mine. It was all apart of his sick and twisted game.

But I always played into it.

"I'm not avoiding you," I told him in a calm voice.

Near caressed my face and started moving his own head towards my neck when he continued on, "But you never come into my room. You know I'm always there. I'm always there if you need anything." He put a slight emphasis on the last word.

I knew that he was in there all the time. The thought was always on my mind, albeit not always in the very front. But somewhere in a back corner, there was always the thought of Near.

Near was the first person I met when I came to New York.

I really didn't have much when I came, only a small suitcase filled with clothes, money, and chocolate. That was 1985 and I was filled with a lot more hope, and a lot less cynicism. I came from Boston and was old enough to know better, but young enough not to care. I knew that it would be a long shot- me becoming famous, that is- and I knew that my intelligence could only help me so much, but I also knew that this was what I had dreamed about my entire life. Becoming a musician in the infamous New York City.

And so I packed my bag and left. And then, I met Near. And I was entranced from the very moment we made eye contact on the subway. Then when Near offered to show me around, and help me get to know the place.

It was Near who showed me the way of Alphabet City.

It was Near who told me that I could share his apartment with him if I helped out with the rent a little.

It was Near who told me that he knew a way to help me relax into New York.

It was Near who provided me with my first shot of heroin.

It was Near with whom I lost my virginity to.

It was Near who told me that I was the most important thing in his life and that he would always be there for me.

It was Near that fed me all those lies.

And I believed them. Of course I did, he was a pretty good liar.

It was Near who was my first love.

It was Near who was my first hate.

I loved how his gentle caresses could soothe my frazzled nerves when I was going through withdrawal.

I hated how his gentle caresses got me to try the drug in the first place.

I loved how his voice was always so calm even when I was extremely emotional over some things.

I hated how that calm always made me angrier when I think about it. I could be suffering from something inside my head, which happens on many occasions, while Near would be sitting there calmly analyzing the fucking situation.

If I hated him so much, then how can I still love him?! A part of me still yearns for those touches, still wants to hear that calm voice whispering in my ear. A part of me relishes those lies that spread from his lips. A part of me cherishes the stolen kisses off those forbidden lips.

A part of me waits with baited breath for the nights when Near decides he wants me. When Near decides he wants to feel me beneath him. Wants to hear me moaning his name.

The part of me that loves him wants to hear him calling out my name late at night when we're together, wants to hear the sweet, poisonous lies that fall out of his lips at the perfect moment. Wants to pretend that everything is right with the world, that I'm not a failure and that I will live. The part of me that is still filled with that hope.

I had to crush it down; in fact I vehemently oppose all signs of hope. I _know_ that nothing will ever turn out right for me, that I will die young and without a purpose in life.

I _know_ that I will die soon. That my days are incredibly numbered, that I could probably count down to my death date with only my fingers.

So why am I still hoping that it's all just a bad dream? That it's not real and I'm still the dashing stud from Boston who was at the top of my class? Why can't I just get my entire self to accept that fact? _Why am I like this_?

I hate myself. I hate what I had become- a brainless loser who still dreamt of big things happening to him. I was perfectly fine a few days ago, so why was I getting all of these feelings _now_?

Briefly, a picture flashed through my brain. It was the sight of a certain red haired individual who I had just met. Matt. _Matt_.

I remembered the conversation we had earlier. I thought to myself, _Maybe I will take him up on that offer…_

Then Near spoke again.

"Come with me," he said and led me to his room.

I allowed myself to be pulled along because I knew that I really wanted it. If fact, I loved it.

And I didn't protest when he laid me on his bed and proceeded to unzip my coat and vest and start roaming my upper body with his hands, then his mouth. And my internal fight stopped abruptly when he started pinching and manipulating my nipples so that they were rock hard and I was already moaning his name.

I quickly got his white shirt off and immediately started kissing and licking up and down his chest. I got prideful feeling when I heard him moan; I was happy to know that I could make him feel like that.

He then untied the laces of my pants and slipped them off. I had no underwear- because underwear and leather really don't mix too well- so I was completely naked now lying underneath Near.

Near grabbed my member and started stoking it, to my utmost pleasure. He continued his ministrations until I was extremely hard and practically begging for him to be inside me.

He stood and removed his own underwear and pants and I saw that he was almost fully erect. I crawled down the bed and took his cock in my hands and let them run up and down him. I leaned forward and took him in my mouth, and started licked the tip of him. I noted the appreciative moans coming from the man above me, and licked the underside of his member.

He gripped my hair tightly in his hands and pulled me up for a forceful kiss. Near pushed me back onto the bed and shoved three fingers in my mouth. I licked and sucked on them making sure to get them evenly coated before he pulled them out and inserted one into me. I moaned at the feeling, and even more when he started moving it. Soon, he inserted another, then one more making the total three and stretching me out.

I moaned loudly as he thrust into me with his cock. He started to move out then slammed into me hitting my prostate. I let out a throaty moan and arched my back in the pleasure he gave me. Near continued with that for a little while longer then reached down to stroke me while he thrust into me over and over.

I couldn't take it much longer so I managed out, "I'm- ah- going to-"

He seemed to get my message though so he slammed into me extremely hard and hit that little bundle of nerves shamelessly.

I felt a tightening in my lower abdomen before I felt a sweet release. I saw stars and realized that Near had come moments after I did. He collapsed on top of me and we stayed like that, panting, for a few moments.

We sat up slowly and Near then motioned to his left. He got up off of the bed and pulled on his boxers. He walked over to a small table in the corner of the room and picked up something that I couldn't decipher because of the dark. When he came back I saw a needle and a small baggy with white powder in it.

Ah, now I knew what was going to happen.

He wordlessly got the supplies ready and put the needle to his forearm. He plunged the needle into his vein and I saw the expression on his face that matched one of ecstasy.

A part of me was completely disgusted at what I had just done with Near, and what I was about to do with Near. I hated that I would just accept Near, and let him do whatever he pleases with me. I hated how I melted at his touch, how I gave in to him. I hated myself. In fact, I hated myself more than I hated Near.

But that didn't stop me from taking the needle from Near's hands after he had filled the needle again and shooting my sweet drug into my veins.

During my wonderful high I got dressed. Near ignored me and went back to the small table where he was working on a puzzle, and didn't notice when I exited the room and shut the door quietly behind me.

When I got back into the large main room I saw L sitting on the chair. He saw where I had come from and didn't say anything, but just gave me a knowing look.

I was angry. I was angry at myself for what I had let myself do once again, and I was angry that, even if he didn't voice it, L disapproved of me giving into Near once again.

I went to a small corner of the room that was closed off with a hanging curtain and consisted of mainly a window seat. It was my only real sense of privacy in the open apartment and where I did most of my shooting up. It also acted as the place where I slept- _when_ I slept, that is.

I sat on the seat and stared out the window at the street below me. Our apartment was on the eighth floor so I could see pretty far into the city. As I sat there I thought about that night. On one hand, I met somebody new- and it's someone who actually seems interesting. On the other hand, I gave in to Near's advances once again and was feeling completely horrid. But the heroin I had moments earlier was easing some of my worries- for now, anyway.

But I stayed on that seat until I could see the sun starting to rise and the city start to wake up. I stayed on there, and my thoughts kept drifting back to one thing- or person, I should say.

Matt. _Matt_. Now that was something that I wanted to figure out.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**A/N: Wow. That was my first time ever writing something lemony. So tell me, was it good? **_

_**Sorry about the late update, but I really couldn't think of anything and then- BAM! It all seemed to write itself. **_

_**So I leave on this note: I am not above begging. Please review! Please! **_

_**Wow, that sounded so pathetic. Put me out of my misery and review! **_


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